


Paper Snowflakes

by FireEye



Category: Saints Row
Genre: F/M, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-24
Updated: 2017-12-24
Packaged: 2019-02-19 07:16:40
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,406
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13118772
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/FireEye/pseuds/FireEye
Summary: After a long night out on business errands, there's home.





	Paper Snowflakes

**Author's Note:**

  * For [shadowkeeper](https://archiveofourown.org/users/shadowkeeper/gifts).



Gat smirked at her.  It hurt, and she hid it well, but not well enough.

“Oh, I ain’t saying taking down Big Tony wasn’t impressive and all, but everybody gets lucky once in their life.  This one?  Gonna take actual _skill_.  Still think you got the balls for it?”

It was the way her nose wrinkled.

And, maybe, the way she took off like a shot across the empty lot, snow crunching underfoot.  Watching her cross into the shadow of the concrete skeleton of a building, Gat snickered.

 

The upstairs interior of the half-built, abandoned building had been weatherproofed with heavy plastic.  She slipped past the guards flying yellow downstairs, and, ignoring the stairs, kicked her way straight up the empty elevator shaft.

A cigarette butt flicked down past her as she reached the third floor, and reached up to grab the ankle of the guy standing there.  Too surprised to realize what was happening, he hit the far wall of the shaft and crumpled as he fell, and she caught his gun.

Not like he’d be needing it anymore.

Drawing herself up on the ledge, she took quick stock of the men assembled.  It was all she got, as one guy glanced at her shadow, then glanced at her, but it was all she needed.  Before he could raise the alarm, a gunshot rang out, the first of several as she cleaned the room, two-handed.

Most people couldn’t.

She wasn’t most people.

She had barely the time to catch her breath when reinforcements arrived.

She shot four of them out of five and turned to run, letting her weapons drop from her hands as she flew down the stairs.  The guards on the ground were dead as she breezed through the open structure and dodged back into the street.

She was almost home free when her foot hit ice, and she slid, falling flat on her back.

Coughing, she forced her body to roll over by sheer force of will, and, trying to wipe it away, merely succeeded in smearing the blood from a cut lip across her mouth.  A harsh kick flopped her onto to her side, and left her sputtering.  The Vice Kings lieutenant looked her up and down as she struggled to drag herself away from him, and _tch_ ed at her lack of any self-evident allegiance.

“Hope whoever put you up to this made it worth your life, motherfucker.”

She flinched, inching back as he leveled his gun.

Every trace of smug authority vanished.  His eyes widened, and he clawed at the hand that clamped down over his mouth and was barely suppressing his scream.  Feebly, he then tried to reach the knife embedded in his lower back.

“First, I like to think working for me has its perks,” Gat remarked, digging the knife in.  “Second, Julius got some questions, but King ain’t answering his calls these days.  We gonna have ourselves a friendly little talk.”  Johnny spared a glance at the woman on the ground over the guy’s shoulder, before turning back to the matter at hand.  “Third Street.  You may have heard of my boy, here; take a good look – he’s the one took down Anthony Green.  Maybe show a little respect.”

Gat could have made it quick.

He didn’t.

 

Once he was done, he wandered over to where she sat, forehead resting against her knees where they were pulled up to her chest.  Johnny leaned down to slap her ear, and she glanced up at him; he offered her a hand, and hauled her to her feet.

She ran her fingers through her hair, then crossed her arms, surveying the site.  Finally, she went for a cigarette.

It took her three attempts to light the match.

~*~

Her dazed attention lingered on the passing neighborhood.  It was only when the car stopped that she blinked, then stirred, casting Johnny a quizzical look as he shoved the car door open.

“You couldn’t have dropped me off at my place?”

“What, you got plans?”

Johnny gauged her guarded expression.

“Oh, like you gonna go to Church or something?”

Her face fell, and he snorted.

“Yeah, thought so.”

He pushed himself up out of the driver’s seat.

“C’mon,” he told her, “Eesh got a crusade or something going ‘bout you spending your days of holiday cheer all alone in a drafty apartment.”

“Your apartment’s got drafts, too,” she growled, sliding up and over the side of the convertible door.

“Find me a building on the Row that don’t.  I think it’s the _all alone_ part botherin’ her.”

~*~

Aisha’s bangles jingled together, ringing clear through the small apartment.

“Hey, sweetie.  Looks like you guys had a rough night.”

She raised her hand in a silent _Hey,_ and Aisha leaned in to kiss her cheek.  Blood rushed to her face, and smiled a bit faintly.

Gat glanced down at her, then shot Aisha a prickly grin as she stepped away.

“Where’s my kiss?”

Aisha gave Johnny an appraising look.  One that lingered on his bloodstained clothes.

“You don’t need a kiss,” she told him.  “You need a shower.”

Her gaze wandered up to find Gat squinting at her.  Dangerously.  Tearing her eyes away from him, she cleared her throat, and rubbed at her mouth with the back of her hand, trying to hide, if not rid herself of the smile.

Shaking his head, Gat stalked off towards the bedroom.

“Make yourself at home,” Aisha called back to her as she hung about the welcome mat.

Scratching the hair along the back of her neck, she sighed, and took a moment to take in the festive decor.  Finally, she looked to her scuffed, bloody hands, and realized that Gat probably wasn’t the only one who needed a shower.

~*~

The bathroom door creaked open, and she froze under the streaming hot water.

“Hey,” Aisha smiled at her as she peeked out from behind the curtain.  “Thought you could use a clean change of clothes.”

“They might be a little big, but...” she left them folded on the counter and gave them a pat as she turned gracefully to leave, “here if you want them.”

Once Aisha had gone, she glanced at her pants on the floor.  Taking the risk, she reached out of the tub to drag them across the floor, and dug out her cellphone.

_SHE THINK I’M A GUY OR NOT?_

_FUCK IF I KNOW_

then

_WHATS IT MATTER?_

Sighing, she glanced at the closed door.  Then texted him back.

_A LITTLE CONFUSED._

~*~

The television was on mute – some holiday movie or commercial.  Aisha was curled up under Johnny’s arm on the couch, so she sat on the floor, near the coffee table.

The clothes were a little big for her, but they were clean and warm.  Aisha smiled at her, and she folded her hands in her lap.  Gat reached over the side of the couch, and threw something at her.

On reflex, she blocked.  Whatever it was hit her arm, bounced upwards, and landed in her lap.  She eyed the small, festively gift-wrapped package cautiously from behind her arms, before lifting it.  Carefully.

“What’s this?”

“Yo, you never seen a Christmas present before?”

“No, but I think it’s the first time anyone ever gave me one.”

Gat merely stared.  Aisha fidgeted.  She answered the quandary she’d inadvertently raised.

“Orphanage didn’t ever budget for it.  Piety over presents.”

“Huh.”  Gat prompted her, “So you gonna open it or you just gonna stare at it all night?”

Turning it over in her hands, she hesitated, then slowly started ripping back the snowflake embossed wrapping paper.

“What is it?”  Aisha asked, glancing at him askew, and Johnny shushed her.

Knowing Gat, it was...

...surprisingly, _not_ explosive.

Holding up the pair of socks, her eyebrows raised in a question.  Aisha scoffed, rolling her eyes, and swatted Gat’s arm as she got to her feet and started around the corner to the kitchen.

“What, don’t everyone need extra socks?”  Gat grinned.  “And seein’ how you like to wear yours, I figure you always could use another pair to shove down your pants, in case you lose one to the dryer.”

She stared at him flatly, her words terse, “Thank you.”

“Don’t mention it, wasn’t a thing.”

Aisha returned with a tray offered her a mug of _something_... warm and smelling faintly of spice and alcohol.  She accepted it with a more grateful air of, _Oh, yes, please_.

**Author's Note:**

> ...this started as one thing, then meandered into something else.
> 
> But hey, you just know Aisha would hang a stocking for the Boss. ~~If only on a secular level, provided the Boss was into that sort of thing.~~


End file.
